


in the silence of the night

by masked



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s13e05 Advanced Thanatology, Happy Ending, M/M, Past Character Death, Shock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-09-07 01:52:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16844767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masked/pseuds/masked
Summary: Castiel comes back from death. Dean can't believe his eyes.





	in the silence of the night

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on Nov 17, 2017 [here](http://hamburgergod.tumblr.com/post/167560502448/1305-coda-fic-destiel-1k-theyre-in-a-booth).

They’re in a booth at one of those twenty-four hour diners for people who’s been on the road for far too long—for those who needs a break. A breather from driving all night, to their destination, to nowhere, to anywhere their damn heart pleases. The neon sign that stands high into the sky buzzes in the chilly night air, and flickers brightly against the windowpane. The speaker gently coos some sort of melody, one of the only sounds in the otherwise empty diner. The waitress’s feet tap against the tiled floor as she makes her way towards their booth, and the overworked cook in the back swears softly after he drops something a little harder than he intended. Sam is sitting beside him, and Cas—Cas is sitting across from him, fiddling with the menu.

Dean can’t stop staring.

Sam talks a mile a minute, asking what happened, how it happened, how glad he is to see him again, et cetera. His voice fills the silence of the diner, fills the empty table, with his hands in wide gestures in the air. And Cas—Cas nods, and talks back, his voice a rumble in his throat, and he patiently answers all the questions Sam has, and he talks. And moves. And does all the other things that Cas used to do, back before he—

“What can I get for you guys?” the waitress asks, a pen in one hand and paper in the other.

Dean was the one to drive them to the diner. He doesn’t remember what he was doing, or how they ended up here. He just—saw an exit sign, and pulled over. And now he’s here. Sitting in a booth. Cas in front of him, animated, talking with a slight incline on his head, breathing. Breathing.

“..ean. Dean!”

Dean blinks, and looks at Sam, who looks back with a slight frown.

“What are you getting?” Sam asks, and it’s apparent that this isn’t the first time he’s asked.

Dean points to a random spot on the menu, and suddenly he’s stricken with heart-stopping fear that when he looks back at the spot in front of him, there will be no one there. Dean looks back, his heart beating in his ears.

Cas is still there.

His shoulders are slightly hunched forward, his new coat bunching up. Sam was the one who rolled up the sleeve of that coat when he was testing him to see if it was really Cas. Sam was the first to spring back to the trunk, and take their testing kit out, the one who took care of everything, to get Cas into the car and nudge Dean forward to ask him if he thinks he could still drive.

Dean just stood there, uselessly, and nodded.

And now he watches Cas as Cas reaches for the salt shaker in front of him, and studies the ridged pattern on the container. His fingers deftly caress it, tracing the dips and raised ends. His eyelashes shadow over his eyes as he looks down at the salt shaker, turning it around in his hands. His eyebrows move slightly as he frowns down, and he sits there, in front of Dean, so full of—motion.

The nylon booth seat squeaks as Sam gets up and slides across it to excuse himself to the washroom. Dean watches as Cas watches Sam, and Cas turns his eyes back on Dean—his bright blue eyes that seem so much brighter under the blinding fluorescent light of the diner—and they stare at him, and Cas blinks, but his eyes don’t stay closed, and Cas shifts a little in his seat—and it’s too much. It’s too much.

“You died,” Dean says. “Cas, you were dead.”

Cas stops fiddling with the salt shaker. “I know,” he replies, hushed.

“I thought—” Dean swallows, and the walls of his dry throat click against each other. “You were gone.”

“I was.”

“But now you’re back.”

Cas gives a curt nod. “I am.”

 _I had to say goodbye_. Dean doesn’t say that. _I had to burn you_. He doesn’t say that either. He’s watched Cas die before. Countless times, he’s died right in front of Dean’s eyes. So why, why is it so different this time around?

The seat squeaks against him too, as he moves across it to get out of the booth. Cas follows him with his eyes, and looks up at him with slight curiosity. Dean slides back into the booth, this time into Cas’s side, and sits an inch away from him.

He’s afraid to touch, lest this all be some sick joke.

“Cas,” Dean calls. Cas crooks his head to the side, just slightly.

“Yes?”

“Cas,” Dean calls again. His voice cracks. Cas turns his body towards him now, honed in on him.

“Yes.”

Dean’s fingers twitch. “Cas.”

“I’m here, Dean.”

Cas opens his arms as Dean slowly makes his way towards him. Dean embraces him, a heavy weight around his arms, and he buries his face into the crook of Cas’s neck, and lavishes in how warm his body is, in the way his heart thrums against his chest, the slight rise and fall of his body as he breathes, in how solid and warm and alive Cas is. Dean squeezes, and Cas’s hands bunches up the back of Dean’s jacket.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re here,” Dean rasps, and he opens his eyes that were squeezed shut, and sees the tan brown back, and a tremendous amount of relief settles in. Cas nods, and his hair tickles against Dean’s cheeks, and Dean lets out a hysteric laugh. “I’m so fucking glad.”

Cas nods again, and he doesn’t let go. He’s here, around Dean’s arms. He’s here.

He’s here.


End file.
